


Burden of Command

by Recidiva



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recidiva/pseuds/Recidiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had to fix the nightmares thing.  HAD TO.  Plus I love Dorian's relationship with a "Don't you dare stop flirting" female Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden of Command

Cole - “Demons asked questions that hurt him.”

Timeline: After the fall of Haven.

Cullen:

Cullen thanked his discipline for the ability to keep his face calm while his mind and heart were being driven frantic. He had let her go. Maker damn him and his choices, he had let her go. He should have distracted that dragon himself. What in Andraste’s name was he thinking allowing the Herald to risk herself? He had rethought his options over and over and had decided he should have sent out a mage who could simulate a green glowing hand. Someone, anyone else but her. Dorian in a red wig. Anything. Some bait. When she inevitably argued, he should have hit her, knocked her out, carried her away and sent out Dorian instead. Now she was gone and with her, all their hopes. All his hopes. He set his teeth and turned aside to blink back tears in his eyes. Fortunately nobody would see. They were braced in the cold and everyone appeared to be crying from the exhaustion, the exertion, the grief, the shock and not least of all the wind. He wasn’t ashamed of his feelings, but he didn’t want any sympathy, didn’t want to explain. He couldn’t explain. Everybody wanted a piece of the Herald and he was simply one of the hopeful drawn to her. That was all he was allowed, all he would allow himself. So he lives in the world she would save. Might have saved. Isn’t that enough? He knew the answer was a vicious no, but he ignored it.

He had a job to do and he would be damned if he didn’t do it. He needed to find her. He needed to see her. Images of her broken body with her blood freezing in rivulets on the snow haunted him whenever he tried to close his eyes, so sleep was impossible.

She had fired the trebuchet and was buried with it, that was the most likely. He wouldn’t allow himself to give in to the despair that threatened to drown him. Not when he wasn’t sure.

He was so angry at himself for his choices, for his failure to strategically plan, he was afraid that if he did find her alive he was going to kill her himself for taking such risks. One problem at a time. Find her. Killing her was optional. He almost smiled at that. Her sense of humor was affecting him, resurrecting his own. He used to laugh…didn’t he? He could barely remember.

If he was going to laugh again he had best start acting as though it were possible. He had to find her. Time to inform Leliana and Josephine that if they didn’t stop immediately and allow him to search, he would set the carts on fire to serve as smoke signals.

Perhaps he’d start with less inflammatory threats, but he was in the mood for threats. If he was the Commander he would bloody well command.

He set his plan into action and assured that the exhausted camp was provisioned to the best of his ability, but did it quickly and impatiently. The wounded were corralled to Mother Giselle and he managed the practical matters of fire and shelter as he could, but informed Leliana and Josephine of his plan to go look for her alone if nobody else was available.

They wouldn’t allow it and he was grateful to not be out alone in the snow in a tactical sense, but he was impatient with their exhaustion. They could sleep when they were sure she wasn’t dead.

Leliana began to qualify their expectations of the Herald’s survival, but Cullen’s stare was uncharacteristically icy enough to stop her calculations short. “I am going. Now. You are coming or you are not.” He turned and began to walk in any direction. Too much snow, too many directions, no way to know. Any direction was better than none.

The wisest thing to do would be to spiral out from camp and keep it in sight. Hopefully the snow would clear enough to be able to see the camp from near distance. His plan set, he began to walk, setting a wide search spiral, the steep terrain and cold tearing at his knees and lungs.

He was the first to see her as he had been ahead of the two others, who were silently pacing him, having realized early on that he was not going to talk and not going to agree to return. His spiral allowed them to occasionally rest and then catch up when he came back around, crossing the shorter distance to his new position. He didn’t notice or care where they were. He was checking landmarks and watching for green light, red hair, testing the distance back to camp by the glow of the fires.

Coming around a cliff edge he began to run forward, watching the Herald sink to her knees in the deep snow. The urge to kill her vanished immediately on seeing her so small and cold. So unlike the whirlwind of Trevelyan energy that asked him questions about his vows until he begged her to stop. Cullen lunged forward and reached her before she fell forward into the snow bank, lifting her and savoring the weight of her in his arms.

Tirannan weakly looked at him, shivering hard enough that he had to tighten his grip. “Cullen?”

His voice was harsh and cracked and he swallowed hard, once. “Herald.”

A ghost of a smile reached her lips and she shuddered in his arms in all the wrong ways, alarming him in fresh panic that she was going to be disobliging enough to actually die right now. She said “So formal…thank you…Cullen” his name a whisper.

Then she was out, a ridiculous smile on her lips. Fierce energy jolted through him as he carried her back to camp. She was breathing, he could see her pulse in her throat, feel the rhythm of her breath against his chest when he curved her further into his warmth. She wasn’t going to die now. He wouldn’t allow it. There was time and hope.

He carried her back to camp and settled in next to her makeshift cot in a makeshift tent in the cold. He growled at anybody who attempted to get him to move until she stopped shivering and color came back to her skin.

When he was sure she wouldn’t stop breathing he stumbled to the closest bedroll regardless of its intended owner, and slept.

He still woke up before she did and familiar fresh worry tore at him. The damned woman spent more time unconscious than anyone he’d ever met. How much time had he spent staring at her in that state? She had fallen out of the fade and nearly died without ever waking up.

Thinking of it, perhaps it was a very bad idea to get attached in any way.

He sighed. Too damned late to think he had a choice in the matter.

+++++

Timeline: Skyhold, after the first kiss

Cullen:

Cullen stepped out onto the battlements to get some fresh air and feel the cool on his face. He was warm enough, but Skyhold still hadn’t been entirely cleaned up to his liking and his office still had the smell of dead and moldering things. He’d looked any number of times for the culprit but he suspected it had soaked into the stones. Sheltering the walls could be, but comforting they could not.

His mind crowded with issues and the clutter of a long day and the stain of lyrium withdrawal scraping and stalking through his mind, leaving an aura of pain whenever he tried to think. He took a deep breath of cold air, looking into the night sky, feeling slightly guilty for neglecting his duty. The bliss of the moment left him standing there, rapt under the stars, allowing the day to leach from his mind with each new breath. The relief lent its own sharp edge to the moment, clean and hard like his blade. He blew a breath out of his nostrils and thought of comfort for a moment and the unlikelihood of it. Leaning over the battlements and closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and focused on the cold as a reality. All his nebulous fears and failures and follies pushed back into the fog bank of dark that had hidden them before. It was an old discipline, born after the fall of the Circle in Ferelden. In the dark lurked promises and temptations and horrors that he had never revealed to another, barely explored other than in the dreams that played out nightly in different displays of fear and shame. If he could do without sleep, he would. He wondered if the rumors would overwhelm him and the Inquisition shamed if he were to seek out a sleeping potion from Mother Giselle. Best to not risk it. She herself would not be indiscreet, but the number of servants and runners that were ever present seemed to thrive on the minutiae of the denizens of the castle. Then there was Sera. If she found out, what she would do to the concoction was horrifying. He imagined an adulterated potion that had the power to knock him out and he might possibly wake up believing he was a nug. This was a risk he was not prepared to take. Best to stay sharp and cold, like the air. Bracing. He would be bracing.

With that thought crystallizing in the cold, he turned back to his office to draw up short upon inching his door open. His previous cold resolve began to waver under the heat that assaulted him each time he saw her. He was always careful to call her Inquisitor when others could hear, but in his mind he heard her name. Tirannan. He was always careful not to touch her, not to look her directly in the eyes when others were around. His tendency to stammer in her presence had not gone unnoticed and if one more person looked at him in an understanding, charmed way, he was going to break their nose.

He had kissed her once. Too brief and too tempting. She made him…unprofessional. That was a bland word for it. If he were more honest with himself he’d call it something else, but that direction was fraught with the horrors that had trod the path of desire for years. That road was blocked to him. Too much, it was all too much. The world about to end was easier to bear. He was afraid that if he reached out to her again, he would dissolve at his core and melt into a puddle at her feet that she could splash through at her leisure. The idea was not appetizing. They had work to do. He paused just a moment too long looking at her ass as she leaned over his desk. When she started to turn at the noise he was making in his armor, he forced gruffness into his voice too hard and his voice cracked. “In…Inquisitor.” Oh, well done, he chided himself.

She turned with a sunny smile that made him feel just that little bit dizzy so he didn’t risk closing the door just yet, just used it for support. From the look on her face, he suspected she noticed the faltering. He hoped against experienced hope that she wouldn’t mention it. 

Tirannan straightened from the desk and turned fully to face him. Driven by discipline, he straightened away from the door. He took his last breath of cold clean air and closed the door carefully. He had pledged his support to the Inquisition, but the way she breezed in and out of his office at any time was disconcerting at the least. Perhaps he should post office hours. He could try it out right now. Swallowing once with a will, he started with his new plan “Inquisitor, I have some pressing matters that beg my attention…”

Her eyes sparkled a moment before she said “By all means, Commander, tell me about pressing and begging.”

Cullen’s mouth dropped open for a moment and he was entirely bereft of disciplined thought for a crucial beat as those words seared into his imagination and played erotic hell with his body and mind. He closed his mouth and his eyes and began to count silently. Maybe she would go away. She seemed immune to hints, it wasn’t likely.

She started to laugh, not unkindly. It was warm and welcoming and he was drawn to the sparkling sound until he remembered he should be irritated with her, if only for self preservation. He’d disagreed with some of her decisions so far, but not enough for it to be mutiny. She'd aligned with the mages and set them on a path to freedom, escalating his fears exponentially about abomination risk. She was from the Trevelyan house and he had had enough in his day of the foibles of nobles. She was a mage herself, and in his unheeded opinion a dangerously naïve one at that, at least politically. Her leadership was one of necessity and not experience. Fatigue washed over him and he set the entire mental mess aside to embrace discipline of service.

Tirannan retreated a step and leaned on the edge of his desk. She studied him with her green eyes, almost reflecting the color of the anchor on her hand, but less menacing. He checked himself momentarily with that thought. Menacing was relative. This woman had killed countless demons and people and any threat that crossed her path save a dragon and an insane ancient Tevinter darkspawn, and she had her sights bearing down on them by design. Menacing they were, but it didn’t appear the menace extended to him. She looked relaxed. He chose to match her tone and ease the moment, let it pass without comment.

He smiled a cool greeting and began again. “Inquisitor. What can I do for you?”

Her smile reflected his, but unlike his, reached her eyes. “Commander. Please, call me Tirannan.”

In his head he’d heard her name so many times, it seemed so natural, like known territory. But those were fevered dreams and unbidden fantasy, and this was reality. Caution. Should he defy her in such a simple thing? Did he want to? Too many questions and too few answers. He didn’t trust her mood and didn’t want to test her further with his minimal defenses. “As you say. Tirannan.”

She appeared to relax and her smile faded somewhat and the laughter light drained from her eyes to be replaced with simpler warmth. “Thank you Commander. Speaking of titles, may I call you Cullen?”

He nodded briefly and she launched directly into using it. “Cullen, then. Thank you. Calling you that makes me feel less…remote. Enough of my day is spent being splattered with blood or making horrific choices, I’d prefer to be less…guarded in your presence. If you would allow.”

Cullen felt suddenly unchivalrous and unworthy. Of course she was facing her own horrors. He resolved to assist her in any way he could. Despite his thoughts and reactions to her, she was deserving of all the support he could give. If he couldn’t have everything he wanted, well, wasn’t that what the Maker asked of all of them? They had survived so far and that in itself seemed a miracle considering what they faced. This was more solid ground, terrain that he understood. He himself craved solid ground and comfort after all the bickering and posturing of the day. His features softened and he nodded. “Perhaps if we began again, Tirannan. What troubles you?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. Her head dipped and red-gold curls fell forward over her brow. When she tilted her head back again, one curl remained and he longed to stroke it back to tangle with the others. Damn his distraction. She deserved better.

She lifted her eyes again to his and asked very quietly. “Do you like me?”

He was dumbstruck for a moment. Like her? When it seemed desire was oozing out of every pore and he was surrounded in an unmistakable cloud of it? Her searching eyes reached his and took in his confusion. “Cullen, you can’t possibly have missed that I take every chance I can get to reach under your guard. You kissed me, but you’re so distant. What did I do? I am clearly not the best bet for survivability, but I want to know. I need to know.” As he listened to her babbling, her voice faded to the soft vulnerability he had just felt himself and had been unwilling to voice or acknowledge. She undid him, with her courage, with her example, and her beauty. His mouth went dry and as he tried to formulate an answer she pushed away from his desk, taking his silence as rejection. He saw hurt flood her eyes in the moment she turned from him. She walked away with dignity, grace and…acceptance of his rejection? Seeing her eyes, his restraint snapped and fell away like the dry and brittle thing it was. He barely had time to move, but move he did.

As she pulled the door open his hand met it on its way with force and very slowly pushed the door closed again against her strength, which faltered at his gesture. He moved forward with his hand and the door as he closed it steadily, trapping her back against him. A fierce surge of triumph clawed its way through his chest and he felt the urge to growl, but he controlled his voice softly as he dipped his mouth to her ear and spoke with insistence. “Tirannan. Tir…don’t leave. I can’t allow you to leave after such a question. It wouldn’t do.” He breathed in the scent of her hair at the nape of her neck and with the hand not holding the door, he lifted her hair there briefly and brushed a gentle kiss against the skin there. She was trembling. That was very good. He lingered there a moment and moved his mouth back to her ear. “You asked me if I like you. Please stay and hear the answer, my lady, and do not leave me so soon.”

She dragged in a labored breath and arched slightly back against him “Tell me. I won’t leave. I want to stay. Please do that again.” Hearing her voice, he realized he was not the only one in this relationship having issues, having troubles, having feelings that knotted will into submission.  
He smiled and kissed her neck lingeringly and slid the edge of his teeth over her skin, relishing the soft moan and catch of breath that escaped her. “Tir…I will tell you. I do not like you.”

She slammed her heel into his foot. Hard. She’d have broken his toes if he hadn’t had steel toes in his boots. Her head jerked back and if he hadn’t been bending over her, she probably would have broken his nose. He wasn’t expecting it and he swore briefly, then started to laugh and when she struggled back against him harder, he just pressed her closer with his body. He was having fun and she very much deserved this. She stopped struggling and braced her arms against the door and attempted to push back against him but fortunately she did not have the strength he had in this moment. Control over her was heady and he was going to enjoy it because his toes demanded it in recompense. Right. His toes were in charge. “I thought you wanted to hear about pressing and begging.” He pushed forward again and took his free hand that had lifted her hair and sought her hand. She resisted for a moment, but then realized he was twining his fingers with hers and raising her hand above her head. They stood together a long moment, each flooding with sensation at the contact of their hands, of him pressing them both against the door, solid and sure. His mouth against her ear again whispered softly “I do not like you, because like is not a word I would use to describe how I feel about you.”

She relaxed and tightened her fingers in his, arching her neck back to seek his mouth on her skin. Her voice was small and warm “What word would you use?”

He laughed against her shoulder and then he lifted his mouth to her ear again. “I have many words.” He shifted his body against hers to come closer in contact with hers, the bulge in his breeches hot and hard against her ass. “I burn. I need. I desire.”

She stirred as if to turn around and he resisted her turning, pressed her closer to the door, relishing the feeling of strength and power over her, stilling her body with his own. He continued “When I first saw you I thought…would she let me touch her? Tell me, Tir…will you let me touch you?”

Her voice caught on a soft whimper and she said “Considering where we are and that you’re still alive…I’d say…yes.”

He smiled. “Good. When I see your mouth I wonder…will she let me taste her?”

Her cheek turned and rested against the wood of the door, breathing out softly “Yes.”

His chin rested on her shoulder in brief relief from the answer and then lifted to her ear again. “When I see you fight, when I see your heart, when I see you serve the Maker I think…will she let me love her?”

Her trembling returned and she breathed softly as she said “Yes.”

His eyes closed and he ushered up a brief prayer to the Maker, who had granted him the greatest gift for his faith and devotion. He would not allow this woman to slip through his fingers. His hand gripped hers harder for a moment and then relaxed. His voice was spiced with mock contrition. “I’m afraid I’ve already been taking your name in vain.”

She arched her back again softly and garnered a gruff moan from him. “How so?”

He said with laughter in his voice “I believe I’ve been calling you InquisiTir in my head and my inflection. A small act of rebellion.”

She laughed against the wood and almost snorted on an indrawn breath and then couldn’t stop laughing, and he dissolved into laughter and leaned against her in relief.

His voice came softly with more kisses “Promise me something, Tir.”

She stilled and asked. “Promise you what?”

He said lightly “Don’t try to break my toes again. I need them.”

She pressed her lips together. “Well, don’t pull away from me and make me chase you like a fool.”

He nodded “Very well. I won’t pull away. Furthest thing from my mind right now. Another request if I may?”

She smiled “You may.”

He whispered in a strained request “Do not die. I’m afraid I won’t allow it.”

She smiled and said “We are in agreement again. I will do my best to keep that promise.” Her voice sounded small. “I’m sorry about your toes. I hope I didn’t break them.”

He was distracted but he thought a moment, judging her voice. “You’re not sorry at all, are you?”

She laughed again “With this outcome? Not even a little.”

She turned in his arms and pulled him to her with both hands.

+++++

Tirannan:

Tir whimpered softly in her sleep, her legs tensing as she tried to curl into a ball of flayed misery. Inside her mind her fears that she beat back during the day were preying upon her. Much as she had become used to temptation in the Fade, this was new and this was insidiously beating down her defenses as if they were constructed of sugar in the rain.

She was in the Fade, or was she? Was she dreaming or was she…the thought slipped out of her grasp and she didn’t recall having had it. She was in a dingy cell such as those she’d seen at Redcliffe castle, spikes of thrumming red lyrium lancing through the walls. Backing away from them she pressed her back against the bars, gripping them tightly and trying not to sway.

A gentle finger trailed down her back and she heard a voice that set her heart to leaping. Cullen. He could save her, he could…but then her spine chilled cold and before she turned around she could tell…this wasn’t her Cullen. His voice was deep, and strong, and…harsh.

“Welcome, Tir.” There was a cold, mechanical distortion threaded through his voice. Her eyes closed and she sagged against the bars, thinking that she would slide to the ground. He walked through the bars, the ones that held her in.

She steeled herself and said quietly “This isn’t real.”

Not-Cullen’s voice reached her in the dark “It could have been. It still may be. This is what happens if you search your mind for what frightens you.”

Tirannan opened her eyes and looked up at what wore Cullen’s form and spoke with his voice. He was right. It was real enough. Not-Cullen was studded with red lyrium, his eyes emanating the faint aura of red that indicated his body was being replaced from the inside. His hand reached out to caress her cheek, and his skin was hot, jagged points scraping over her skin and leaving raw scratches on her skin where they passed. His eyes were red echoes of themselves, but almost gentle. She shook her head again, shaking his hand off. “You’re not him.”

The tiniest of smiles curved his mouth in a painfully familiar way “I know him well enough. He dreams. I walk in his dreams. You dream of each other. You dream of horrors that befall each other. This…” He flourished a hand over his blighted body “…is a dream you share.”

He stood silently, watching her. He appeared to drink in the sight of her. His hands clenched as far as they could, piercing his skin where red lyrium broke through in shards, blood running off his fingertips.

In this place he appeared to tower over her, shimmering with heat. His hand reached out to trace the curve of her neck and he didn’t draw blood, the flat edge of a crystal vibrating against her skin. Looking at the face, his face, she began to cry, overwhelmed with being unable to separate him, separate herself from this vision. She couldn’t run, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t abandon him. That’s all she knew.

His eyes narrowed in concentration and intent. “Do you know what he fears the most?” His other hand reached out to trace the curve of her breast and then his palm opened to cup the shape of her. His eyes were hooded as he stared at her lips. “He is afraid that if he were to turn into a monster, if a demon or red lyrium were to gain purchase on his soul or body …he would be unable to resist taking you with him. He wants you that much, did you know that? Enough to want any reality with you in it, by his side…willingly or even unwillingly. As long as you belonged to him. He fears what his need for you could force him to be. Do you understand? Can you understand? What makes him want to be most with you is what makes him unworthy to be there. But if he were me…he wouldn’t be burdened by conscience.” His lips twisted into lines of self contempt. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tir…but I can’t help it, I will.”

Terrified and fascinated she watched the scar on his mouth, so familiar. She traced it with a fingertip and he shivered, his eyes widening at the touch. It seemed as though some of the red evaporated, but she couldn’t be sure.

She tried not to falter, relaxing her shoulders, breathing through moments to focus herself. Her fingertip brushed his lips. She looked at his face and the contortions of it, the twisted mouth and etched lines distorting a face she loved so well. He couldn’t hurt her here. Not exactly. He could, but it wouldn’t last. She wouldn’t wake with blood on her face. She lifted her eyes to his, forcing herself to see. Seeing his pain and self-hatred, she said with conviction “Whatever you are, whoever you are…I love him. That is my truth and it is a truth you cannot change. If you are a demon, you cannot possess me because I belong to him already. If you are Cullen…then I am yours.”

His eyes flared with heat and shock, and he yanked her into his arms, crushing her into an embrace, his lips sharp and hard against hers, demanding and possessive. Her arms spread over his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and sliding along crystal panes as his body tore at hers, impaling and relentless. She felt the crystals dig into her body everywhere he touched, fusing and binding them together. She screamed until her vision turned into a white flare and she woke, sweating and straining, tears tracing the pain’s edge.

She turned every light on and paced until the cold drew her outside in her overheated and terrified state.

++++

Dorian:

Dorian stepped lightly up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters, carrying a bottle and two glasses. Her lights were still on, long after they should have been off. She needed her sleep. He needed to stop worrying about her. He tapped his knuckles lightly along the door frame and hearing no answer, tapped harder. She was on the balcony, the sound of the wind making it impossible to hear. Not wanting to startle her, he clinked the glasses against the bottle as he walked forward, making a seemingly clumsy entrance.

“Damn these steps.” He ventured with studied irritation. “You’d think a few people with brooms. Or a dwarf who is a decent mason…what about that dwarf that just stands there with the mosaics, can’t we put him to work…?” He stopped and set the glasses and bottle down on the ground, concerned that she wasn’t answering or even turning.

She was on the balcony, her hands gripping tightly to the railing, still oblivious to his presence.

Giving up pretense of entry, he stepped forward onto the balcony, taking in that she was trembling, crying and her face was etched with pain. Reaching forward he touched her hand and swore. “Of all the damned…Tirannan, you’re going to freeze. If you’d wanted the option, I could have obliged with a few spells.” His tone was lightly mocking, but when he tried to pull her hands from the railing and she resisted, he lifted her bodily, wrenching her hands from the cold stone and swept her inside, carrying her to the bed and holding her against him, pulling up the blankets from her bed around them. Industriously tucking the blanket around her shoulders he said “I know you have more reason to cry than most, but freezing to death is not the preferred method of coping.” He started to rub her hands between his own, hesitating only momentarily over the odd sensation of the anchor. “Shame this is only light. It would help if it were warm. Come to think of it, why does it go out right when we need light in caves? You could light the way – what was that?”

He tipped his head down to hear her whispered comment repeated louder. “I said…I finally got you in bed.”

“Your seduction methods are terrifying.” He tilted his forehead to meet hers.

“But they work. You can’t argue with success.” She tried to smile and almost made it.

His brow raised and considered “Is there a bet riding on this? If you win, we could split the proceeds.”

She shook her head. “Nobody bet on me. It’s a personal victory.”

He pressed his lips together for a moment, letting the self pity pass. “Yes. You got me in bed. Well done. Now, explain to me why you were trying to kill yourself when you could just walk outside and let someone else kill you instead? You have ample opportunity to be murdered. I would look amazing at your funeral and be rather put out with you.”

Her sigh was wobbly with the leftover tears. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. Truly. I was thinking and I lost track of…everything.”

His face tilted. “Perhaps I could explain the basics of thinking not being life threatening.”

Her eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to worry you. I don’t intend to worry anybody, though everybody is worried about me already for real or unreal reasons.”

He adjusted a pillow behind him and leaned back. “Do I also have to explain the basics of friendship? Other than my life depending on your being…reasonably sane…in several respects, I also care. That may be silly or unforgivable, but it is true.”

She began to cry again and he let out a long breath slowly while stroking her hair, waiting for her to cry herself out. Slowly over time her shoulders relaxed and he hoped she would sleep. He could get the story out of her later, she was clearly exhausted. As her tears slowly abated with a smile-inducing amount of snuffling, he felt her body lose its tense lines and her shoulders incrementally drop over time. He felt she was about to drift off. Maybe the only casualty of the evening would be his lower back from this tense position he was reluctant to relax for fear of waking her. She jerked awake and cracked his jaw with her skull. Hard, he thought. Not surprising.

She scrambled out of his arms and stood with dizzy uncertainty, then started to pace. “Can’t sleep.” She said definitively.

He chose to argue. “You can sleep and you should. I’m starting to suspect you’re sleep deprived and…frankly, crazy.”

Her jaw set and she eyed the wine bottle. “Did you bring this? Good plan.” Eyeing the bottle, she had little in the way of problem solving at the moment, but a great deal of determination and no small amount of spillover recklessness. She gestured, which unfortunately didn’t ease the cork out as she’d hoped, but lit the top of the bottle on fire until the smell of singed cork and melting glass and igniting alcohol prompted him to take action. Casting a barrier on her first to protect her from fire and melting glass, next a well aimed expulsion spell sent the bottle spinning off the balcony in a flaming end over end arc.

She thought for a moment. “That was possibly not the best course of action.”

Far beyond out of patience, he turned on her. “Now I am confused, angry and out of wine. Would you care to rectify any of those conditions? I feel you deserve to be slapped, but I’m not going to try that in your present state. I’d be the next one over the balcony, on fire.” 

She looked at him and said in a solemn way, sobering and trying to look less…insane. “I would never.”

He gestured at her “You would never what? Make me crazy? Terrify me? Think again.” He was escalating in concern and it was beginning to boil over in frustrated anger. “What is going on? Tell me.”

She bit her lip and her voice caught “I can’t. I can’t tell you.”

He stepped over to her and shook her shoulders until she looked at him. “You can and you will. That was good wine. You owe me.”

She saw that he was implacable and actually correct. She did owe him some explanation. But what explanation? She tried to pick through her flashing recollections and half-formed theories.

Dorian watched her and said sharply “Stop formulating. I can see it in your face.” When she looked mutinous he added “Don’t lie, because you’re terrible at it and it demeans us both. Tell me.”

She shook her head briefly, then tried to find a thread to follow. “You’re right. I need help, I just don’t think anybody can help me and I don’t even know how to define the problem.”

Dorian tapped his foot “It looks defined enough to me.”

She bit her lip “I just don’t know what to believe.”

He nodded. “Okay, enough of that going around. Believe about what? Corypheus?”

She drew her brows together and shook her head. “No. He’s much more straightforward. He’s just trying to kill me. That’s easy.”

He shrugged. “Then what? Why can’t you sleep?”

She whispered “Nightmares.”

They’d been through enough nightmarish source material that he had to agree it was plausible and probed for more information “Nightmares of what?”

She threw her hands up “I don’t know. Demons? My fears? Was I in the Fade? Am I making it up? Is it real?”

His brows pulled in “Is what real?”

Her eyes lifted to his in entreaty “You can’t tell anyone.”

He assured her. “Of course not. I wouldn’t break a confidence.”

Her lips quirked. “Unless there was a bet.”

He smiled back “Oh, of course that. However, nobody has been crazed enough to anticipate this situation and bet on it. Your secret is safe.”

She whispered “It’s not just my secret.”

She told him.

++++

Tirannan:

Dorian sat in deep thought, as she’d seen him after the time jump in Redcliffe. Analyzing, calculating. She loved him for it. That steady loyalty, smart and able at her side, fighting for her and fighting with her.

Dorian lifted his eyes to hers and took her hands in his. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, and by extension possibly to him. I will do whatever I can to help.”

She kissed his hand and then touched her forehead to it, feeling a burden shift to shared. “I have no idea what to do. I mean, I do have ideas, but they all seem like bad ones.”

Dorian considered and said tentatively “We could kill it.”

Tirannan bit her lip “Solas says these things reform in time. Can I take the chance of having it there later if or when Cullen is weaker, when I don’t know? Do I want to risk that thing in Cullen’s head? Is that what he goes through that every night? That he…that I…” She couldn’t put the tumble of scenarios that flooded her mind aside, and they made her feel nauseated for having thought them. She choked and shook her head. “Look at me. I had this happen once. What if he…what if this has been happening to him every night for years?”

Dorian “We could kill it again if it reforms …but you are right, it is a risk. What is the alternative?”

Tirannan said “This is one of those things that sound like a very bad idea.”

Dorian said softly in a teasing voice “Like trusting a Tevinter?” 

Tirannan laughed “Oh, not as bad as that.”

Dorian’s smile was warm. “You’re not the steadiest of company right now. You had best explain.”

Tirannan hesitated and then said “I would have thought to kill it before. After meeting Cole, after knowing Solas. After seeing his spirit friend twisted and killed…I am wondering…what if I could…change it? Convert it? Maybe Cullen’s expectations or mine made it…what it is.”

Dorian shook his head slightly “You can’t think to extend your acquaintance with this…thing. Every moment you spend with it is a moment spent open to temptation or torture.”

Tirannan winced and her voice had a manic edge “I know that. I know that. I know. But still, some part of me believes, truly believes that I can do it. That I have to do it. What if I could make it stop? Isn’t that worth some sleeplessness?”

Dorian’s voice was sharp “You are the Inquisitor, yes, but don’t you have other projects, less lethal…well…less complicated projects?”

Tirannan raised her eyes to his in supplication. “Please, help me. I can’t let it prey on Cullen anymore. I can do this. I have to convince it…I have to.”

Dorian closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? What do you need me to do? Other than be more frightened for you every moment than I already was? I’m going to start to scowl. I’m going to get wrinkles. Wrinkles.” He made it sound like the most dire state imaginable.

She started to laugh “Don’t tell Vivienne. She’ll have me arrested as an abomination and cut off my hand, wear it around her neck and declare herself Inquisitor.”

Dorian nodded, deadpan. “She’d at least put your hand in a lovely, tasteful silverite setting.”

Tirannan nodded, agreeing. “She would. It would be exquisite. But still. Don’t.”

Dorian agreed. “Confidence. I promised. We could…ask Cole.”

Tirannan winced. “I was trying to think of a way to ask his help, but so far his main talents are blurting my private desires to everybody within hearing distance and being cryptic. Neither of those seem to be helpful. I can’t risk Cullen knowing before I’m ready to let him know. If Cole told him…”

Dorian said softly “You may not be able to keep him out. Come to think of it, I want to hear your private desires.”

She hit him with a pillow and he satisfyingly “oomphed” in response obligingly.

She closed her eyes and leaned back. “There is one more possibility that I am afraid to consider.”

Dorian waited.

Her voice came slowly with an edge of panic. “What if that was Cullen? I’ve met Solas in the Fade while I was sleeping. What if…what if that’s what he is in his dreams now?”

Dorian whistled softly and took that mental leap and recalculated. “So…killing him…yes, that would be bad.”

++++

Timeline: Before Cullen asks Cassandra to relieve him of duty.

Cullen:

Cullen woke, and he had to turn quickly and throw up into a bowl, which he kept near the bed for just this reason.

He closed his eyes and ground his teeth. Maker, he was a monster. The dream and shadows of sick lust washed over him again and he heaved and spat in a familiar, bitter pattern that stretched far back, but was more intense without the lyrium to guard him from his worst imaginings, and the fact that his worst imaginings had leapt in magnitude based on the state of the world.

It was bad enough when he was tortured by visions of the Hero of Ferelden being possessed during her Harrowing and him having to kill her himself. The sick feel of his blade sliding through her as she professed her love to him and offered to stay with him. Whether she died in his arms or refused to die, promising…promising things.

He may as well have been back in his cage at the top of the tower, terrified, listening to the screams of the real and the temptations of the unreal, weak and exhausted. His fortitude and discipline had failed him. Again.

Since he had stopped taking lyrium, the nightmares had shifted in intensity and always included Tir. First he feared failing her, she died hundreds of times, her bloody standard brought back and cast at his feet in disgust by Cassandra. A mission he had sent her on had failed. His plan failed and cost them all the world.

Then images of her mangled body in the snow, finding her while she was still warm but already gone, flesh cooling under his hands and the blood…

It got worse after Sahrnia. The nightmares had taken their deepest turn into the depraved. He feared sleeping and woke exhausted and ashamed and sick enough to be unable to eat.

Could he ever sleep by her side without harming her in his head? Would he wake and mistake reality and hurt her? He couldn’t risk it.

He bent his head, hands steepled and his forehead resting on them. He recited the words that he had used as a touchstone. Words that brought him to determination, brought him to reality. He was not forsaken, he was remembering the Maker. In His hands he would place himself, as he had for his life. In the Maker’s hands he would put Tir, safe from him. Safe from the worst of him.

Cullen recited from the Canticle of Threnodies as tears traced down his cheeks and his back stung like whip marks from the remembered feel of her nails.

“Then the Maker said:  
To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:  
In your heart shall burn  
An unquenchable flame  
All-consuming, and never satisfied.  
From the Fade I crafted you,  
And to the Fade you shall return  
Each night in dreams  
That you may always remember me.”

He was not comforted. He could not have her. Cullen gathered his burning heart and sought out Cassandra.

++++

Timeline: After Cassandra’s discussion and Cullen’s lyrium disclosure. 

Tirannan:

After seeking out Cullen and finding him with Cassandra, she had few doubts that Cullen was suffering in more ways that she had imagined. His apologies, his feeling of failure, it broke her heart.

She desperately wanted him back on lyrium to protect him from his nightmares, but she knew that would be the wrong decision ultimately.

She was going to do something crazy, she could tell. Lately the sane decisions hadn’t had the results she might have hoped. 

+++++

Timeline: After the order to stop taking lyrium.

Tirannan:

She had had enough of Cullen’s refusal to talk. She waited outside his door until he left his office, sneaking up behind him and grabbing his arm, causing his balance to fail and spinning him around to keep from falling. She pulled his face to hers and looked into his eyes. He was trying to flinch back but she wouldn’t allow it. “Nuggalope” she said.

He shook his head briefly and said “What? As the Maker is my witness, one day, Tir, you will say 10 things in a row and I will understand more than 4 of them.” His voice was exasperation incarnate.

She was delighted that he called her Tir. She kissed the tip of his nose and said “Nuggalope. Remember that.” She let him go and he turned and retreated with the reprieve, the remembered caress of her hands striking sparks along his cheeks still.

She yelled “NUGGALOPE!” at his retreating back.

He kept walking.

Cullen:

The woman was going to drive him insane. Er. Insaner. After a long walk along the battlements, searching the horizon as he did many times daily compulsively to see if there were any advancing horrors, he sighed and settled behind his desk to continue the act of attempting to keep the woman from getting herself killed. Why in the Maker’s name she insisted on killing dragons he could not fathom. Iron Bull egged her on and he was thinking of having him called back to Par Vollen by starting a rumor that he was endangering the Inquisitor. He sighed. It wasn’t a rumor. Nor would it work. He could dream.

He shuffled through his dispatches until he came to one that was just one word written in scarlet letters across parchment. “NUGGALOPE.”

He crumpled it into a little ball and tossed it out the window. Then despite everything he started to laugh. Well, he’d be thinking about this one for a while. But he’d be damned if he’d ask her what it meant.

+++++

Tirannan:

She was laughing and Dorian was having trouble keeping track of the story. “Nuggalope?”

She stopped laughing briefly and hiccupped her way through telling the plan and the story again. “Nuggalope!”

He shook his head and handed over the bottle. “I have the lyrium. You’d really best hope this works.”

She sighed and her giggles settled down. “It will. I really think it will.”

He settled in with a book and a bemused expression. “The runner says that his office is dark. No doubt he’s freezing in his cold bed. I don’t understand why you allow a gaping hole in his bedchamber. It seems cruel.”

With a jaw-cracking yawn she said “Because I’m hoping he’ll lose the battle of attrition and move in here with me. But first…”

Dorian smiled “But first. Good luck, Tirannan. I’ll be here.”

+++++

Tirannan: 

She knew she was asleep. The faint glow and blur reminded her that she was in the Fade. She was vibrating with the focus of lyrium and she had to find him. She set her thoughts to bring her to him. Which Cullen would she find? What would draw her his way? She thought of his face and of his silences that screamed of things he wouldn’t say. She felt a tug and started to walk, the landscape bleeding into itself as it transformed around her. She was sure she could find him here.

She stepped through a scrim of fog, into snow. He was on his knees in the snow, drifts forming around him, her broken body in his arms. She tried to call his name but he couldn’t hear her. His finger traced her dead body’s cold eyebrow gently. Tears were frozen along his face. There was no sky, no destination, just cold and grief. Maker, she had no idea he…

She spoke his name again but once again he didn’t respond. She tried to touch his shoulder but it passed through. Focusing her intent, she thought of how to get through to him and the macabre idea seemed the only way.

She poured herself into the broken body and transformed it by her will. Blood receded, warmth flushed her skin. She opened her lips and looked up at him. “Cullen…don’t cry, I’m alive. I’m alive. Please…” He didn’t see. He didn’t hear. She closed her eyes and focused “Nuggalope.”

His brows drew together and he said dumbstruck “…what?”

Her facial features wavered with concentration and she said “Nuggalope, Cullen. Remember.”

With a look of pure confusion on his face, the scene dissolved and she was alone again.

She wandered a time again, assuming she had woken him up, distorted his dream. Was it enough? She focused and felt that tug again.

She hesitated when the red glow emanated from in front of her, but wouldn’t allow fear to override her purpose. He was here again, in the depths of his fear. The cells remained the same, his body remained the same, the cell he gazed into empty. And then it wasn’t empty. She saw her own body, broken and riddled with red lyrium, eyes glazed and staring.

“I killed her.” He said, not turning. “I always…I don’t want…”

Her hand lit on his shoulder gently. “Cullen.”

He turned and he growled at her, pushing her away as he demanded “Why don’t you run? Why don’t you leave? Why do you let me…”

She sought his eyes with hers. “It isn’t me, Cullen, it’s you. I don’t want you to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt me. You’re just afraid that you will. Don’t be afraid anymore.”

She glowed blue, he glowed red. Her hand reached out to touch him and he flinched away, turning to get away, but there was nowhere to go. Her body was gone, the cell doors were gone, lyrium was sliding back into the walls and reforming into stonework.

“Cullen.” She said even more quietly. “It wasn’t your fault. You take too much onto yourself. You’re not expected to save the world from mages. You’re not expected to survive a demon onslaught. Kirkwall was not your fault. Haven was not your fault. I need you to know that in your bones.”

She focused again and smoothed her hand over his skin, the red lyrium crystals receding and crackling out of existence, the blue glow of her hand revealing whole skin underneath as it passed.

She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “Nuggalope.”

He jolted back and stared at her. “What does that mean?”

She smiled. “It means…I can find you in your dreams. I am real. You can’t harm me here, Nuggalope is our Fade password. Have faith that if I do not speak it, you cannot harm me. You can dream, but it isn’t real unless I’m here with you, probably infuriating you.”

His head tilted. “I always dream, every night, they always…”

She held her hands in his “Not any more. I will find you. You need to have faith. Learn a new faith, Cullen. Hope with me. Put away your fear and your guilt and hope with me.”

She leaned in to kiss him and did not allow him to hurt her or to imagine that he could or would.

+++++

Cole – “Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.”

Cullen:

Cullen leaned into the kiss of this remarkable woman, blue sparking off of her in cascades, and when he closed his eyes to touch his lips to hers, he jolted awake.

He was awake with a physical and spiritual burning igniting his blood. Nuggalope. Maker damned Nuggalope. He started to laugh and he pulled the bare minimum of clothing on to cross the courtyard. He took the stairs down and back up 2 at a time, not answering any greeting cast his way.

He didn’t hesitate to yank open the door to her quarters and take those stairs 3 at a time, coming up short when he saw Dorian beside her sleeping form, a softly glowing ball of blue light illuminating their held hands.

Cullen said “Mine” and jerked his finger toward the door, a clear indication for Dorian to leave.

Dorian smiled and disentangled his fingers from hers. “Indeed. Yours.” Dorian gathered his things slowly and made ready to leave, saying casually “I may have heard a few things I shouldn’t have.”

Cullen couldn’t stop staring at her. “Don’t care. Leave.”

Dorian nodded and walked slowly to the exit. “I claim the right to borrow your cloak at my convenience.”

Cullen’s lips twitched “I could strangle you with it if you’d like.”

Dorian laughed “Oh, the images” and then stepped out of reach “I’m leaving. I’m closing the door and then I’m guarding it for a little while. Hurt her, ever, Commander, and I will flay you. It will pain me to do it, but I will. I promise it would pain you more. I’m very creative.”

Cullen bowed formally. “And I would deserve it.” He amended softly. “Thank you.”

Waving a hand behind his retreating back, Dorian said. “You are most welcome. May I suggest not doing the walk of shame in the morning? Do the walk of pride. Go to breakfast together. Even better, go to lunch together. I will inform the others that you are both…indisposed.”

Cullen was barely listening and his eyes were on the woman in bed. “Go. Away.” 

Dorian obliged. “Gone.”

Cullen sat by the side of the bed and took the hand that Dorian had set down gently by her side. For once she was sleeping but not in imminent danger of dying and he watched her breathe without fear for her or from her for the first time.

When the candles guttered and the fire had gone dim, he stripped and slid into the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms and holding her, feeling her breathing against his skin and he noticed his shoulders didn’t strain under the stress he didn’t feel. He matched the pace of her breathing and held her.

Sometime later she stirred and then started, and his arms tightened around her. It took her a few moments, but she could make out his features by the light of the moon reflecting off granite and ice and casting shadows.

She smiled. 

He smiled.

She settled her cheek on his shoulder and breathed out a long held breath. “When we get married, Dorian is going to be my best man.”

Cullen started to laugh and then shifted to kiss her, pressing her back and starting to remove the too many clothes she had on. “As my lady wishes.”

She arched to assist his efforts “I need a dress. I swear at least one day of my life I am going to be prettier than you.”

He gave up on gentle and began to tear the fabric off her “Good. I can tear that off too. But Tir, you’re not pretty.” 

She pinched him. On the ass.

“Ow. Stop that. No, you’re not pretty. You’re beautiful.” 

The laughter died down as their eyes met, his eyes shining with love and certainty. She took longer to catch up to the new reality, her hand reached up to touch his cheek and he turned into it, kissing her palm gently. The cumulative shocks and worries and fears of the day and the week and the year caught up to her and she started to cry. She cried silently. In vulnerable moments she’d learned to stay quiet and not draw attention to herself. Years of isolation in the Circle sculpted her grief into something that felt like a knot in her chest she couldn’t breathe past. Overwhelmed with everything, silent tears slid down her cheeks and a shuddering rhythm caught her body.

Seeing her face, her eyes closing against the sting of tears, he understood. Bone deep isolation and separation etched her features. He marveled again at the courage it took to find him and free him, and he wanted to do the same for her. He crystallized an interest in showing her, not telling her. He considered briefly that turning her tears into moans right now might be selfish, but discarded that idea as a thought of the old reality she’d shattered. She wanted him and wanted to be with him. How could he fail to reach out to her after all she’d done for him?

He propped himself up on an elbow at her side and kissed where her tears were falling across her face, following his kisses with gentle touches of his fingers to stroke and dry her skin. He let her cry, didn’t ask why and didn’t try to get her to stop. He kissed her tears away as they emerged and let one hand fall to cradle her neck in the palm of his calloused hand, kneading the tension out of her muscles and pressing his thumb to her pulse beat. When the first soft whimper of pleasure escaped her lips and she arched her neck into his hand, he lowered his head and kissed her with almost no pressure, controlling his urge to crush her lips under his with difficulty. His body was rioting in protest, and a tremble in his supporting arm betrayed the effort, but he repositioned himself closer, kisses like brushstrokes on her lips, her skin. She wasn’t crying any more. The painful wracking had stopped and been replaced with an irregular intake of her breath with definite sounds of improving mood. He smiled against her lips at that thought. What he’d started as gentle comfort turned into exquisite teasing as her body arched up to contact his, but he continued to pull back from her, keeping her at a distance until she took his head between her hands and said in a strained voice “Maker, you’re trying to kill me.”

He smiled at her with an air of innocence and said “You promised me you wouldn’t die. I’m going to hold you to that.” He kissed her with a little more pressure, bringing his tongue to lick at the line of her lips and his teeth to bite gently at the swell of her mouth. She reciprocated the kiss and she changed her own tactics, teasing him in return, brushing her breasts against his chest and smiling against his lips at his own sharply indrawn breath. When her hand started to trail down his chest to reach for his cock, he trapped her hand between them by pressing their bodies together. Frustrated, she drew the hand out and pushed both hands against his shoulders. His lips twitched and he said “What was that?”

She said “Roll over.”

His brow rose. “You’re trying to move me?”

Her lower lip jutted out slightly “I thought you might take a hint.”

He kissed the tip of her nose “You’re adorable when you’re deluded. This is my seduction.”

She laughed “You don’t have to seduce me, you have me.”

He considered “Very well, this is my ravishment.”

Her eyes sparkled “Big word for a Chantry choir boy.”

He smiled “Big dare for a Circle mage.”

The teasing faded from his eyes and he lowered his body entirely on to hers, grinding his cock against the inside of her thigh, kissing her with a crushing hunger, letting his desire and love dictate his movements. She responded by returning his kiss with her own thirst, focused on his mouth, the air changed and the small hairs at the back of his neck pricked up as he felt electricity spark from her mouth to his, involuntary magic flowing from her skin.

He pulled back and saw her eyes open in shock and he thought she was going to apologize, but he cut her off. “Tir, don’t hold back. Give me your magic. Show me.”

He bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth, a sheen of magic washing over her skin. He focused briefly, gathering up the raw magic in his hand, directing it to wash over his hand and gather, moving his mouth and hand on her body, trailing the sparks, which left warmth and tingling crackles of energy.

He raised his head to look down at her, at her body, at the stretch and twist of her skin and the muscles underneath, pulsing with a warm red light. Her eyes were closed and her head drawn back with her neck taut. A powerful rush of pure lust entwined with his other thoughts, overtaking the interest in being gentle or playful. He bent forward and licked at the taut stretch of muscle in her neck, feeling the energy gather on his tongue.

He bit and licked down her body, kissing her neck and her breasts, dragging the magic out of her and into his control, spreading pools of sensation over her skin. He trailed his tongue through her navel and when her hips spasmed in response he held her down with one hand while his tongue probed at her clit, finding it and spreading electricity as he went, one finger seeking her entrance and testing the feel of her. He groaned at how wet she was, his slick finger joined by another, driving in and out of her body in a cloud of red, gripping her hip and digging his fingers into her skin, drinking in her moans and losing himself in the fulfillment of endless fantasies he’d imagined in his cold bed, finally hot and wet and real under his tongue. When her thighs began to tremble and her moans reached a frantic pitch, her hands buried in his hair and twisting, he drove his fingers in harder and scraped her clit with his teeth, driving his tongue and fingers into her until she came apart in his hands, repeating his name and saying “please” softly.

He kissed the inside of her thigh as it twitched, pulling himself along the length of her body until her arms slid around him, over his shoulders. She strained to kiss at the side of his neck and he bent to her ear “Please what, Tir?” The tip of his cock teased at her and then drew back, his body sliding along hers. She whimpered and clutched at his shoulders until he repeated “Please what, Tir?” and she focused long enough to pant out “Please. Please. Please come, please.”

He surged into her, groaning out a harsh sound, eyes closed and sweat beading along his body, pulling out incrementally and then driving back into her, she ground her hips into his in tantalizing rhythm. He drew his arm under one of her knees and pulled it up as he leaned forward, deepening his penetration to pleasure-pain for her, her brows drawn together and her lip between her teeth, panting with sweat beading on her forehead.

His voice savage he said “Tell me you belong to me.”

She whispered “I belong to you.”

He drew out and slammed in hard “Tell me you love me.”

She opened her eyes and smiled, meeting his eyes and touching her hand to his cheek. “I love you.”

Simultaneously victorious and conquered his focus released and magic dispersed over their skin, as he drove hard into her, mindless. He growled as he slammed into her until he came, listening to her near scream as her body contracted around him, driving him to a fierce orgasm, shuddering against her body in aftershocks.

Moments passed as his arms began to tremble and he lowered himself to kiss her, pulling out from her with her soft whimper. He rolled to his side and brought her body up against him, kissing her forehead and then leaning his forehead against hers. “I love you too, Tir.”

They didn’t make it to breakfast, or lunch.


End file.
